Stuck Downstairs
by Pemonynen
Summary: Mary is upstairs.  Matthew is stuck downstairs, waiting.  Everyone else looks on knowingly.  Random happy fluffiness.  Ridiculously vague CS spoilers, no infringements etc intended.


_This popped into my head a few days ago after a post on tumblr gave me the seed of an idea, and it wouldn't disappear, so here it is! Just a little bit of fluffy happiness to tide everyone over for a bit! Hope you like it!_

_*Addition to the a/n (it was about 3am when I posted this so I did forget at the time) - but a thank you to Orangeshipper, whose tumblr post planted the idea, and without which this story probably wouldn't exist! :)_

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><p><strong>Stuck Downstairs<strong>

The door opened and everyone froze as…Cora appeared. She shook her head with a smile.

"Not yet. Edith, she wants you," she smiled as she stood, looking apologetically at Matthew, and headed upstairs. Matthew resumed his pacing, hands clenching unconsciously at his side. Robert chuckled, having lowered his newspaper when his wife walked in.

"My dear fellow, there is nothing you can do apart from sit and wait."

"But I don't want to. I want to be up there. I _should_ be up there with her." He paced a little more forcefully, frustrated. No-one was letting him do anything. They just kept telling him to sit down or read or drink tea or go out for a walk, when all he wanted was to be with his wife when she needed him.

A loud scream suddenly tore through the house, tore through his heart, and he felt weak. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the churning sensation in his gut. He felt a hand on his arm…he was being led to a chair. A glass was being placed in his hand. He looked at it, and looked at the person who had provided it.

"Thank you Molesley," his voice was hoarse. He knocked back the brown liquid without even checking what it was, wincing as it burnt the back of his throat. He coughed and handed the glass back to Molesley, who nodded and disappeared back into the background.

"Steady on Matthew," Robert smiled, face dropping a fraction as another scream came from above them. "She'll be fine. Doctor Taylor knows what he's doing," the 'unlike Clarkson' didn't need to be added, but they thought it all the same.

"Is it always like this?" His blue eyes frantically looked round the room at Robert, Cora and his own mother. The women smiled, sharing knowing glances with each other.

"Yes. Matthew, there is nothing you can do for her," Isobel dropped her gaze back to her knitting, exuding an unnatural calm that was being mirrored by the other woman, who was now embroidering something. Robert had returned his attention back to the newspaper. If he felt any anxiety, he was hiding it well.

"But I could-" He stood and started pacing again.

"No."

"But-"

"Matthew, no. For goodness sake will you sit down or go outside, or do something that doesn't involve making a hole in the carpet!" He frowned at his mother's gentle but firm tone. He felt like he was being chastised. He wanted to be in the bedroom, _with his wife_, holding her hand, rubbing her back, reassuring her that he was there, that he would always be there. He felt useless and annoyed and altogether too warm. Maybe he would go outside for a minute.

"I'm going out to the garden," he announced pointlessly as he crossed to the door.

"Yes dear," his mother replied distractedly, paying him no attention but smiling as she heard the door click and meeting the eyes of the Earl and Countess, who were also hiding their own smiles.

The cool afternoon breeze washed over him, and he was relieved that he had removed his jacket when he had got in from work, rolling his sleeves up ready to help, but instead being pushed away from the stairs and into the sitting room to wait with the others. He tugged at his tie and undid the top button of his shirt before checking the time. He had received the telephone call at his office at half-past ten. It was now quarter-past two. His poor darling girl. At least she'd be a little more comfortable when it was over, he mused to himself. The past few months had taken their toll on them both, especially at night. She was hot, then she was cold, and she shifted and twisted and turned, trying desperately to get some comfort with the constant ache in her lower back. Then there was the sickness, always hitting her just as she had managed to still and achieve something resembling almost-comfortable. And she tried so hard not to wake him, but it was inevitable, even when he slept in the dressing room. He shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of the gentle wind against his face. With a sudden jolt he thought of the nursery. Everything was ready wasn't it? Yes. Was it? Yes. It was. How many times had he checked and double-checked? That room had been checked over on an almost daily basis for the past six weeks. Robert and Cora had inspected it and declared it to be perfect for their grandchild. Even Violet approved. He thought of the little images of the nursery rhymes that Edith had carefully painted around the room, remembering how pleased she had been when her sister had asked her.

He sighed and looked up at the windows with a frown. How long did these things take? She must be in agony. The thought of her hurting caused a wrench of pain within him. He knew it was necessary but he also knew that if he could suffer through the pain for her, he would do it in a heartbeat. He distantly heard another wail and he balled his hands into fists. This was ridiculous. Damn propriety and all of its rules, making it so that he couldn't be there when his own wife gave birth to this thing, this _baby_, which _they_ had created _together_.

"Excuse me, sir?" He spun round and came face to face with Molesley, who was holding out a glass of water to him.

"Has it…has she?" He filled with a rush of excitement as he took the glass.

"Sorry sir. No news from upstairs yet I'm afraid," he offered a small smile to his employer, whose face dropped. He drank the water in one go, not even realising he had been thirsty.

"Well, I suppose I should go back in then, and wait," he knew he sounded childish, and he knew, by god he knew, that this was partly his fault, as she liked to remind him when the worst of the sickness hit her, when the doctor had confined her to bed rest, when it was three o'clock in the morning and she felt like she was on fire even in just the thinnest cotton nightgown and with all of the windows open. He made no effort to move for a few more minutes, before letting out a loud sigh and heading to the door, Molesley following closely behind. They headed back inside, but something seemed different. The atmosphere had shifted, and he was suddenly gripped with terror…oh god, what if she hadn't made it? What it neither of them had? Oh god, that must be it… No. No. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, swallowing thickly, and trying to rid his eyes of the tears that prickled there. He pushed open the door and saw the doctor talking to Robert, Cora and his mother…they all turned as he entered. His heart hammered in sick anticipation, and his breathing felt strange, like he'd forgotten how to do it. Please don't let them be dead. Please. _Please_. It was like time had stopped, nothing seemed to be moving. And yet…they were smiling, and the doctor was shaking his hand…and then Robert was, and everything shifted back into focus and the shapes they were making with their mouths became words.

"Congratulations Mr Crawley, you're a father! A little boy. All fingers and toes present and correct. Perfectly healthy," the doctor's soft Welsh accent seemed to sooth Matthew and he remembered where they were, and he was vaguely aware of shaking the other man's hand. He knew they were having a baby, but it hadn't really connected in his mind that that meant he would be a father. A father. To a boy. He had a son. _They_ had a son. He felt his face change shape as the thought flitted, then settled in his mind. He was a father. He knew he was smiling then.

"And Mary?" He was sure he hadn't made any sound, but it sounded like he had. The doctor smiled again, nodding as he met the piercing blue gaze.

"She's fine. Tired, but fine. Luckily there were no complications, an absolutely perfect delivery. She'll need to rest for a few days but that's about it!"

"When can I see them?" He instinctively turned to look through the door and back again.

"In a few minutes." He nodded at the rest of the family before making his way back to his patient.

His exit snapped everything back into place and he was suddenly surrounded in a crush of arms and kisses from Isobel and Cora, and a firm handshake and embrace from Robert, and a handshake from Molesley, and then Mrs Bird appeared and shook his hand, and he felt the tears prickle his eyes again, probably not for the last time that day. He could barely hear what anyone was saying, but everyone was smiling and they kept touching his arm and patting his back, and he ended up with a glass in his hand and he drank the liquid, and he knew that he was still smiling and he didn't seem to be able to stop moving around, and someone had to let Violet and Sybil know…yes, of course. He made to go to the hall to the telephone but was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

"Matthew, I think perhaps, you should go and see your wife now," his mother looked him the eye with a smile, and he noticed that she looked a little teary. Her first grandchild. To think that there had been a time when this had been an impossible dream. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you mother," he smiled at her. He moved to the stairs and took a deep a breath, his heart was racing and he felt like he was shaking a little. He put one foot on the step. It hadn't been that long ago when he had been itching to get upstairs, wanted to run up them and now he couldn't be moving more slowly. His chest felt tight. He reached the top of the stairs, where Doctor Taylor was waiting with a smile, leading him into his own bedroom. He stopped outside, taking several deep breaths, and then tentatively entering.

The curtains were partially drawn, keeping the room dim. He looked first at Anna, who beamed at him with a nod of the head, and then at Edith, who stepped forwards and kissed him on the cheek. Then he looked at the bed. And there she was. Hair loosely plaited, cream cotton nightgown, propped up against the pillows, and a bundle of blankets in her arms. She was perfect.

"Darling, there's someone I want you to meet," she smiled at him. She looked tired, and even though her voice was low and soft, he could just hear the tinge of excitement creeping through. The door clicked behind him. They were alone. He stepped forwards slowly, uncertainly, but then he met her gaze. Her warm, chocolate gaze inviting him, trusting him.

He sat himself next to her, stretching his legs out, and peered down at the little pink face, fast asleep already. He took in the fluffy dark hair and the little rosebud mouth. He reached out to touch the baby but stopped himself. What if he hurt him?

"Matthew," she looked at him. "This is your son. Our son," he nodded and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "You won't hurt him," she whispered, sensing his hesitation. She stroked her own finger across the tiny hand that was curled into a fist, neither of them unable to keep their gaze off the baby for long.

"He's beautiful," he exclaimed suddenly, meeting her eyes again. "He definitely takes after you!"

"Do you think? I think he looks like you."

"Mary…" she looked up at him expectantly, and he realised he didn't know what else to say. How could he express all of the feelings that were coursing through him, flooding him with emotion? "I love you," she smiled broadly at his words and leaned to kiss him again. Pulling away, she took his hand and ever so gently placed his finger on the baby's powder-soft cheek. His heart stopped. He felt crushed and overwhelmed and so very very full of love. A primal protective instinct kicked in, and he slipped his arm around Mary's shoulders and shifted closer to her, rubbing her arm as she rested her head against him. "Can I…can I hold him?" he whispered in her ear.

"Of course! You don't need to ask Matthew," she smiled at him again, full of love and happiness herself. "Here," she sat up straight and passed him their son, gently encouraging him as he took the baby and she helped settle him against his chest. He pulled Mary closer and she moved one hand to hold onto the baby's blanket, not wanting to be apart from him for a single second.

"So what are we calling him?"

"I thought we'd decided," she murmured, her voice now drowsy.

"Is that what we're sticking with then?"

"Yes," she yawned and nestled herself closer to him. Lord, she was exhausted. He kissed her head fondly and then looked back at the baby.

"Well, I suppose then, welcome to the world William Reginald Crawley." It was too early to tell whether he would stay dark or turn blonde, and whether he would have his father's icy blue eyes, or his mother's deep dark ones, or whether he would have his father's easy nature or his mother's strength of spirit. One thing was certain though, and as Matthew held his sleeping wife and his sleeping son closer to him, he smiled and knew that he had never felt happier.

Fin.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed it. Any feedback is always gratefully received and appreciated. Thank you for reading!<em>


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